


I Want to Break Free

by chasingriver



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fast Cars, M/M, Nevada, Podfic & Podficced Works, Podfic Available, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:48:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur takes full responsibility for accepting a job in the ass end of nowhere, but the ten-hour desert road trip in a cherry-red convertible is all Eames’ idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want to Break Free

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youcantsaymylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcantsaymylastname/gifts).



>   
>    
> 

They’re in the middle of the Nevada desert, and he makes the mistake of letting Eames drive.

As soon as he’s in the driver’s seat, he slams the car all the way up to 120 miles per hour, a manic grin splitting his face. “Slow down!” Arthur screams, but most of it is lost to the wind noise of the convertible.

“Oh, c’mon,” Eames says when they’re down to a sane speed, “tell me you didn’t enjoy that.”

Arthur settles for an exasperated look. He takes full responsiblity for accepting a job in the ass end of nowhere, but the ten-hour road trip from Vegas is all Eames’ idea.

“This is what America’s all about, right? Fast cars, hot women — ” Eames pauses, giving him a meaningful look, “ — hot guys.”

Arthur cracks a smile and forgives him. “Stop at the next gas station. I’m driving.”

“Good, I need sunglasses. The wind’s making me squint.”

“You’re the one who wanted the convertible,” Arthur says.

It’s another half hour before they find one — a one-pump shack that looks like it’s straight off a 50s movie set. The weathered owner tells them to fill up. “There’s nothing else ’til Ely.”

“How far’s that?”

“Depends on how fast you drive. About three hours, legal.”

Eames shoots Arthur a terrifying grin.

“Nothing doing.”

“Spoilsport,” he says, pouting, and tosses Arthur the keys. “Do you sell sunglasses?”

“No, don’t sell much ‘cept gas.” He looks thoughtful for a second and says, “Wait. Might have some in the back.” He comes out with a pair of cheap Ray-Ban knock-offs. “These work?”

“Good enough,” Eames says cheerfully, and peels a twenty from a roll of bills from their ill-gotten Vegas winnings. He puts them on and turns to Arthur. “Yeah?”

“You look like Tom Cruise in _Risky Business_.”

“Could be worse.” He settles back into the passenger seat. “All right darling, your turn.”

The gas station guy does a double take at the ‘darling,’ and Eames gives him a winning smile. They pull back onto the road, kicking up dust behind them.

“I think you overpaid for those sunglasses.”

Eames chuckles. “No, pet. I think the _Luxor_ overpaid for these sunglasses.”

The odometer ticks off the miles as they speed through the desert, far-off mountain ranges giving some visual respite from the endless sea of dry brush.

They’ve been on the road for an hour when he feels the vague stirrings of hunger. “Wish we’d picked up food or something. I didn’t know it’d be this empty. You have any snacks?”

“I’m a veritable minibar, love. Mixed nuts? Chocolate?”

He glances over at Eames. He’s been known to strip minibars clean, so it’s possible he’s _not_ being sarcastic. Unfortunately, he’s being sarcastic — in that dry, English way that makes you feel like an idiot when you fall for it. “Damn. How far ’til Ely?”

Eames checks his phone. “Another two hours? Maybe? Less if you let me drive.”

“Don’t you have GPS on that thing?”

“No signal.”

“That’s … terrifying.” Visions of flat tires and bleached bones run through his brain.

Eames _lounges_ — arm stretching luxuriously across the white leather bench seat, head tipped back, basking in the sun. Without turning, he says, “Arthur, you worry too much.”

They stop in Ely to refuel and buy snacks. (“Pretzels, Arthur. I’m trying to blend in.”) He apparently takes too long in the store, because Eames abandons his passenger-side tanning session and comes in to find him.

The only type of tea Eames can find is ‘iced,’ which he declares “an abomination against all that is tea.” When he starts muttering, “We shouldn’t have given up the Colonies. Look what they did with the place,” Arthur orders him back to the car.

He buys four bottles of water — the largest ones he can find — in case they get stranded and have to crawl to the next town. Not that there are many ‘next towns’ around here. Back at the car, he rubs the sweat from his eyes. He ditched his jacket and waistcoat almost as soon as they started, and his sleeves are rolled up as far as they’ll go, but the heat is killing him. Eames gives him a cheerful, relaxed smile. The bastard hasn’t even broken a sweat.

Arthur says, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” He can’t help but be jealous. He looks so _comfortable._

“Mm. Nice and warm. Quieter than Mombasa. Want me to drive? You look a little tense.”

He scowls and wishes he’d packed something lighter.

“Linen,” Eames says, apropos of nothing.

“What?”

“Linen. I swear by it in this weather. Want one of my shirts?”

He almost launches into his standard tirade about Eames’ complete lack of fashion sense, but he catches himself just in time. “God, yeah. Thanks.” He digs through Eames’ bag, looking for something that doesn’t make his eyes hurt. He strips off his shirt — sweaty, disgusting, and destined for the dry cleaners — and stands half-naked in the parking lot for a moment, enjoying the cooling effect as his skin dries.

Eames leers. “That’s a good look for you.”

He rolls his eyes and slips the shirt over his head without undoing the buttons. It’s huge, but it feels amazing, like he can _breathe_ again. He probably looks ridiculous, but he’s too comfortable to care.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the view, darling, but we should get going if we’re going to get there tonight.” He hands him a cold bottle of water. “Feel better?”

“You have no idea.”

Then they’re back in the desert, the only people for miles.

“You know,” Eames says, “now would be a good time to find out how fast this thing really goes.”

He looks over at him and frowns. “We didn’t get the insurance.”

“I said _fast_ , not off-road.”

It’s still light out, dead straight, dead flat, and not a cop in sight. Common sense tells him it’s a terrible idea, but the tingling feeling in his fingers and the _want_ in his gut is more compelling. He cracks a furtive smile. “You’re a horrible influence, Mr. Eames.”

“That’s why you love me.”

“Possibly.” He thinks for a second. “Should we put the roof up first? It’ll be more aerodynamic.”

“That’s the spirit,” Eames says, beaming. “No, leave it down. It’ll be more exciting.”

He takes a deep breath and exhales. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

They’re already doing about seventy and hitting a hundred doesn’t feel much faster, but as they push it up to 110, the wind starts getting aggressive and he’s pretty sure this is when he’d started yelling at Eames before.

At 120, the adrenaline hits his system full-force and he keeps pushing, wanting more, wanting it so much he can taste it. His hair is wrecked, free of its gel and whipping around his eyes and making it hard to see, but the road’s straight and it’s not like there’s much to hit.

They creep up to 130 and the wind pushes his skin flat across his cheekbones like a cheap Hollywood facelift, and even with sunglasses on, his eyes water so much he’s at a full squint, hands gripping the steering wheel like his life depends on it. Eames braces against the dash and he’s got his head thrown back, screaming at the top of his lungs in a wordless howl of joy.

They’re at 135 now, and it’s like they’ve been sucked into a tornado and the wind roars in his ears, and now he’s screaming too, giddy with excitement and fear and the power of the engine and the landscape rushing by them in a blur. The hair whipping against his face actually stings and it’s glorious.

He pushes harder, determined to hit 140. The car fights him but he doesn’t back off, and when the speedometer hits its mark, the tach’s pegged in the red. “140!” he yells triumphantly and eases off the gas. When they reach a sane speed, he brakes and pulls over. They both start laughing so hard they can barely breathe.

“Bloody hell,” Eames finally gets out, “you’re insane!”

Arthur laughs harder. “It was your idea.”

Eames slides across the seat and kisses him, energy flowing between them like a live wire. The adrenaline high and the touch of Eames’ lips and the warm desert air — it’s sheer euphoria, and Arthur lets it burn through him.

When they pull apart, Arthur runs his fingers through his hair, trying to tame it, but it falls back around his face. Eames’ hair is just as bad. They’re a mess. An adrenaline-fueled, giddy mess. Arthur can’t remember the last time he was this happy. Well, not with this many clothes.

He’s so turned on from the thrill of it all, he wants to straddle Eames on the passenger seat and go to town, and he’s edging over there before he catches himself. Winces. “I guess we shouldn’t — ”

Eames sighs. “Probably not, love.”

“You sure?” he says, trying to talk both of them into something stupid.

Eames gives him a pained look. “A public indecency charge would be the least of our worries if we got caught.”

“Yeah,” he says, and sighs. He pulls Eames in for another kiss. “But once we get to our room, all bets are off.”

“Mm, I would hope so, pet.” He reaches out and toys with Arthur’s hair. “You should wear it like this more often. Looks good.”

“It makes me look less professional.”

“Your reputation precedes you, darling. I don’t think people would cross you even if you showed up with it dyed pink.”

“Thanks.” Then he squints and adds, “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Perish the thought. Should we get going?”

They press on through. They chat. The sun sets behind the mountains in gorgeous, muted pastels. Another town. (More gas. More snacks. No phone messages. No tea. “You’re fucked on the tea thing, Eames. Deal with it.”) More endless, identical desert.

They drive through a tiny town on the Idaho border named Jackpot, populated only with casinos. Eames begs him to stop, but Arthur insists they have to keep going.

When it’s dark, they listen to the radio. An exhaustive search turns up four stations: liberal news, conservative news, classic rock, and an evangelical preacher who tells them they’re going to hell. (The last one is oddly satisfying, but they can only stand it for ten minutes.)

They listen to the classic rock station, and Eames hums or sings along to everything. It should be annoying, but it isn’t. When it starts playing “I Want to Break Free,” Arthur joins in at the top of his lungs.

Eames looks over at him, astonished. “I didn’t know you were a Queen fan, darling.”

“Who isn’t a Queen fan?” he says, giving him a dimpled grin.

They both sing through the entire thing. Eames even sings the melody for the guitar solo. It makes Arthur irrationally happy.

They’re on the outskirts of Twin Falls when Arthur’s phone beeps — they’re back in cell tower range again — and they pull over so he can check his messages. He hangs up, perplexed. “Huh.”

“What?”

“Well, you know how neither of us really wanted this job?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, they canceled it.”

“Huh.” They sit there for a few seconds and Eames says, “I’ve always wanted to go to the Grand Canyon.”

“You know that’s, like, farther away than Vegas, right?”

“Perfect,” says Eames, with a wicked grin. “We can stop by there on the way.”

He tips his head for a second, contemplating, then says, “Yeah, why not. I could use a vacation. Stay in Twin Falls tonight?”

“No. I can’t pass up an opportunity to stay in a place named Jackpot, love. Sorry.”

Arthur smiles. “Okay, fine. But you’re driving.”

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to kate_the_reader and mycitruspocket for their help in beta-ing this version of the fic! 
> 
> The song "I Want to Break Free" was released by Queen in 1984. It's got a really trippy [music video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gH4q8SZyJ14). You should check it out. 
> 
> There was originally a longer version of this story, which I've saved at [Livejournal](http://chasingriver.livejournal.com/45221.html). 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [chasingriversong](http://chasingriversong.tumblr.com).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] I Want to Break Free](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6991564) by [chasingriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/pseuds/chasingriver)




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